


Find Me

by RabbitsBones



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, S8E4 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 02:19:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18729742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RabbitsBones/pseuds/RabbitsBones
Summary: “I thought I’d never see you again.” His cheeks are wet, cold, and pink but the wind’s bite is more welcomed then any dornish heat and Tormund’s touch is twice as sweet.“Aye,” He can see their shared breath, thinks of how easy it would be to close the gap between their lips and unbidden his pulse quickens without a hint of remorse but instead with no shortage of desire. “But you never did know much, did you little crow?”





	Find Me

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little drabble on the prospect of Jon leaving to go North and be with Tormund after all is said and done
> 
> Today's Lord Huron song rec is Meet Me In the Woods which I think works well for Jon and Tormund 
> 
>  
> 
> _"I have seen what the darkness does_  
>  _(Say goodbye to who I was)_  
>  _I ain't never been away so long_  
>  _(Don't look back, them days are gone)_  
>  _Follow me into the endless night_  
>  _(I can bring your fears to life)_  
>  _Show me yours and I'll show you mine_  
>  _(Meet me in the woods tonight)."_

Never in his life did Jon think he would meet the endless expanse of snow that was considered the ‘True North’ with relief. In his life, lives perhaps, he’s done more than most men ever get the chance to. It’s a far cry from when he first took the black all those years ago, thinking that he’d cheated himself out of it all in one foul swoop. At the time there had seemed nothing more important than honor, doing right by his lord father, and his haste he had severed his freedom far too quickly. What lay South of the Neck, the touch of another and the pleasant burn of intimacy, all these wants had collected a million ‘never will I’s that piled up in the back of his mind when he kept first watch through the night. It feels as faint as stories of Brand the Builder. Sometimes he thinks, surely that must have been another man. Another young boy, another bastard. In some ways it is, now that he knows the truth of his mother- and father,, but before he left to make this trek he made a decision as well. 

He was never Aegon Targaryen, not truly. Neither is he a Stark, for all that Sansa and Arya claim his as a brother. He may have the blood of the wolf and the dragon but he is no King of the North, no the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms nor Protector of the Realm. He is Jon Snow, as he breath and dies and if there was anywhere he belonged it was beyond the wall. So, he languished every title, every inheritance or ‘honor’ that they tried to bestow upon him. Never has he, and never will he, father any children but he does not lack family in any small amount. His whole life he has abided by the rules set for him by other man, has bled, cried, and even given his life for the good of the people but they peace they’ve sought is finally theirs to partake in. More so than anything else, Jon is tired. After so long, with so much blood on his hands, it feels as though he’s won this much- this freedom.

There is no one beyond the remains of the wall to remind him of his sins, no throne to be fought over, and the dead can finally rest soundly in their graves. One day, they will all die, but once more there is a chance at life. Their battle may not be over, there will always been one threat or another, but he would much rather take his chances against winter then any dragon or king. And finally, the choice is his.

Besides, someone is expecting him, and it would be rude to keep them waiting any longer. 

With one missing ear and eyes red as the leaves on a weirwood tree, Ghost cuts an imposing image. He’s the size of a small horse, with a thick pelt that blends seamlessly into his surroundings. Jon can only imagine what a right nightmare is for the local game, and the thought is enough to have him shaking his head in amusement. The North is a good look on the pup, much better than when they parted and the wolf’s wounds were still fresh. He was never meant to fight other mens’ battles, as free of a beast as any other, this is where he belongs and Jon belongs with him. 

Which is why it’s a relief that he’s met with an affectionate head bump that is, admittedly, a bit zealous instead of any show of teeth. It shoves him on his ass, both humbling the man and causing him to laugh, shifting his face away when Ghost’s tongue laves at the side of his face. The scent of breath is quite terrible, but it’s a warm welcome home that wouldn’t be traded for anything other. Parting ways was one of the harder decisions to make, but it was often said that the harsher the winter the sweeter the summer. He knows this now, fingers threading through white fur, scratching lightly and becoming accustomed to the warmth that meets his skin. They stay like that for quite some time, but as his journey comes to a close Jon finds himself increasingly impatient.

He’s been traveling for months, attempting to find a needle in a haystack when he set out his search. The True North could easily be a death sentence for those who did not know it, whose blood doesn’t not carry the lick of ice, but he and Ghost have always found a way to make it back to each other and this is no exception. They are companions, but now the direwolf acts as a guardian once more, leading Jon further into the endless sea of white, and the man follows without question or hesitation for they are one in the same.

For his faith he is rewarded with the sight of a camp, some hours later, with children running along through the maze of tents. Their laughter carries clear through the wind, and for the first time in years the weight he feels isn’t quite so heavy. They’ve been blessed with a warmer day then most, a luxury in winter, and the sun kisses his skin in the most pleasant way. Without even meaning to, the corners of his lips curl upwards into something soft and sweet. On occasion he wonders if he were simply meant to fight, one battle after the other until the Gods grew bored of him. Seldom had he been prone to flights of fancy where he entertained the prospect of destiny, but as he sees things now he knows that there is where he truly is meant to be. Every burden was a bridge, every obstacle a path that led him here. But, in any case, he is tired of waiting and without a semblance of idea for where he’s going he makes his way past each man and woman. 

No one stops him, despite the fact that they must recognize that he hasn’t been here before. Maybe, he thinks, they’ve been expecting him. 

Awfully conceited of him, isn’t it? But the snow yields to his step, and he moves like a man possessed until in the thick of it all. Heart of the camp, and the True North itself. In the grand scheme of it, it hardly takes any time at all to find who he’s looking for. Not even the entirety of the seven kingdoms could keep Jon from coming home and when he feels the warmth of Ghost’s body beneath his palm, and spots the tell tale shock of red hair, he knows he’s finally made it. There’s no way for them to get back what they lost. Lovers, fighters, giants and children, but they can hold on tightly to what they still have. And, the look on Tormund’s face when he turns and they spot each other, well, that’s something else in of itself. 

His eyebrows furrow first, as though he’s not too sure who would be so boldly by the direwolf’s side, but recognition soon blooms in his eyes and then the distance is closed. They hug hard, tight and long until it feels as though Jon’s head might pop off, causing him to chuckle into the snow laden furs that his face is buried in. His hands grasp at the man’s back, trying to keep him close, even when they part just enough to look at each other. 

Tormund’s forehead rests against his own, and Jon reaches up to hold the back of the man’s head against his own like he’s done so many times before with Arya, Sansa, Brand… But they are not family, yet they are bonded by love and loyalty all the same. 

His eyes close momentarily, soaking it all in, and somehow he finds himself choking up. What a sight he must be, for no titles could save him from the ware of time. It’s taken hold of both of them now, with lines in the corner of their eyes and down the slope of their mouths, and yet somehow there isn’t a single fault gray eyes can find among the fond gaze of a lover.

“I thought I’d never see you again.” His cheeks are wet, cold, and pink but the wind’s bite is more welcomed then any dornish heat and Tormund’s touch is twice as sweet. 

“Aye,” He can see their shared breath, thinks of how easy it would be to close the gap between their lips and unbidden his pulse quickens without a hint of remorse but instead with no shortage of desire. “But you never did know much, did you little crow?”

And it all hits him now, as they stand in the middle of a whole damn camp, in the furthest reaches of the North with only the Old Gods to watch over them. Jon has killed a king, been a king, and watched the dead rise from their graves. He has flown on the back of a dragon, been a bastard and a prince, and come out of it more or less whole. Never again will he be that green boy that left Winterfell to join the ranks of the Night’s Watch, but neither does he mourn this loss.

In his time he has loved, and he has lost, and he takes his chances now when he leans in close and is met with chapped lips against his own. Against the odds he has managed to survive, and not for a moment does he bother to question his luck but rather he does good by simply being grateful. In their bed he’ll sing praises to the Old Gods and New if need be, but for now he feels the sharp nip of teeth in his bottom lip and they are forced to part. Free folk or not, there are some things that no one cares to see, and Jon’s sure a reunion such as theirs is among them. 

“They thought me a king.” He laments, as they slip between tents and fires in an effort to find where Tormund has settled himself. Ghost leads the way, several paces ahead and with little sympathy for their shorter leg span. The arm on Jon’s shoulders is heavier, but not nearly as suffocating at a crown, and instead breeds comfort. There’s eyes on them, of course, he can feel it, but he’ll make himself known soon enough and if there’s anything he’s sure of- it’s that the North will remember. 

“You would have been a good one, or better then most at least.” Tormund offers, squeezing their sides close for a moment before relaxing and letting his eyes settle on the path before them. “But fuck them. There are other good men and good women who would be much happier on that iron cage they pass off as a throne.” It’s such a blunt way of putting things, that it inspires laughter regardless of the genuine trouble it has weighed on Jon’s mind. He has made his choice, and it was the right one. This much he’s sure of, when the other man’s fingers raised to brush against his cheek and he leans into them. 

“Maybe I’m not such a good man as they think, if I left them when I was still needed.” He replies, to which he is quite sure he sees the redhead roll his eyes at. It sparks a smile from Jon, leaning into the other man’s weight. “Perhaps I should go back.” 

It is, of course, all in good humor. There is no part of him that desires the crown, and now that he’s given up all titles and land there’s nothing waiting for him either, but Tormund knows a game when he sees one. 

“Yes, or maybe I will tie you up and keep you with me to lay so pretty on the furs I’ve had waiting for you.” 

Jon, to not much surprise, has no answer for that. The cold isn’t what makes his cheeks pink now, and he shoves the other man playfully only to find himself lifted from the ground before he can bother to make it a step or two further. Instead he is hauled up onto Tormund’s shoulder, and any protest dies on his lips when one hand squeezes the back of his thigh. 

He doesn’t need to see the man’s face, to know he’s smiling when he speaks next. 

“You are mine, Jon Snow, and I am yours.”


End file.
